Desperation
by Alabasterclouds
Summary: Rachel has to pee really badly. She and Quinn are sitting out in the field watching Finn and a few of the Glee boys playing football. Rachel is embarrassed to let Quinn know she has to go to the bathroom and ends up having an accident in the grass. Quinn has to comfort her and clean her up. Watersports, hurt/comfort, female desperation.


It's just one of those nice early summer days in June, where you can sit outside in the breezy warmth and just not care about anything much. At least, that's what Rachel thinks.

She's sitting with Quinn on the grass outside of the high school, watching Finn, Puck, Joe and Sam play a game of pick-up football. They're throwing the ball back and forth, laughing and tackling each other, and Quinn's body is warm beside her, their legs touching slightly as Quinn braids daisy-chains and Rachel sits with her head thrown back to the late-afternoon sun.

It's not even the kind of day where you would feel sweaty, or too hot and uncomfortable. In fact – and Rachel thinks this as she sinks back onto the comfortable, springy grass – it's the type of day that you could just take a nap in. She closes her eyes.

Quinn pokes her sharply. "You're not falling asleep on me, are you?"

Rachel's eyes open and squint against the sunshine. "No. I'm just relaxing. It's been such a rough few months."

"Yeah . . . I know. But I'm glad you made the decision to go to NYADA in the end. Finn will always love you, so . . . you can spend this last summer with him, and just relax before the real hard work begins."

Rachel smiles at Quinn. The taller girl is beautiful in the late June sunshine. Her hair has grown out past her shoulders, and she's wearing a pretty white dress spotted with red flowers. Her face is so calm, so unlike the Quinn of even two years before.

Rachel tries to cross her legs as elegantly as Quinn has hers crossed, and starts playing with a blade of grass. "It will be hard work, too. It's going to be so unlike anything I've ever done, Quinn. I'm nervous. What if they kick me out after a year or something?"

Quinn just smiles. "Do you really think you'd let them kick you out? You, Rachel Berry? I don't think so." Her slightly nasally voice is full of gentle teasing, and Rachel squeezes Quinn's hand before focusing back on the game.

Quinn is just so pretty, and Rachel can't believe they're friends. It's almost strange to think about being friends with the most popular girl in school. It makes her, well, nervous, really, though it shouldn't. Quinn certainly has quit her judging.

But the nervousness isn't really going away . . . and as if on cue, she feels a twinge in her bladder.

Ugh. It's so nice out. There's no way she's going to get up and go all the way over to the Port-A-Potties on the other side of the field. Not yet, anyway.

Instead, she lies back on the grass and studies the clouds in the bright sky. "Did you ever try to find pictures in the clouds?"

Quinn lies back, too, cradling her head on her arms. "Sure. I think all little kids did."

Rachel traces the picture of a flower in a set of very fluffy cumulus clouds and giggles. "I see a rose." As she lowers her arm, though, there's a more insistent twinge. Dammit.

Well, she's still not going to go yet. Not when Quinn is laughing and pointing out a puppy in another set of grey-tinged clouds in the west. And . . . well, she doesn't really want to tell Quinn she has to go to the bathroom. She likes to keep that sort of thing to herself.

It stems from when she was younger and her choir teacher made everyone ask to go to the bathroom and give a time limit of how long they would be. She'd often make people dance on the spot desperately, and Rachel vowed she'd never go to the bathroom in school or let anyone know she had to go. Anyway, it's . . . just not talked about. She doesn't like to think about anyone having to go, even though of course it's perfectly natural.

Quinn is pulling on her arm and pointing at what looks like a dragon. "What about that one?"

Rachel crosses her legs to stop the uncomfortable feeling in her bladder and looks up. "A dragon?"

"I thought a horse."

The two girls giggle, and with that, Rachel's bladder finally gives a warning twinge. She's going to have an accident soon if she doesn't go.

But Quinn is telling a funny story, now. "And then I saw Sugar in the hair dresser, and she was getting what looked like a mullet! I thought mullets went out of fashion ages ago! And she was getting a pink STRIPE! What was she thinking?!"

And the idea of it is so funny that Rachel laughs and promptly crosses her legs as a small spurt of wetness shoots out into her panties. She gulps. Not here. Not now.

She has a bit of a weak bladder – a fact that no one but herself is aware of – and has had little accidents before from waiting too long. Her panties press damply against her pussy and she involuntarily lets out another small squirt.

Quinn takes no notice of Rachel, who is clenching her fists and wondering how she can sneak away without actually coming right out and saying she has to pee, and continues to discuss going to Yale in July for their student orientation program. Rachel is barely concentrating on her words, now. She's going to wet her pants.

She decides to shift to try to get a foot under her vagina so that she's not leaking, but as she moves, a large spurt comes out and soaks right through her panties.

Rachel has never been so glad to be sitting on grass. Quinn has no idea that she's basically wetting like a potty-training toddler.

Now her foot is jammed under her. It's helping, but the wetness is uncomfortable, and she's starting to worry about it leaking through the pink capris she's wearing. The warm dampness is familiar, and a slow blush rises on her cheeks as she remembers the last time she wet herself, over a year ago, at Nationals on the way home from New York. Luckily, everyone had been asleep in the bus, and no one had noticed her rushing to the tiny bathroom at the back to change her pants, or her moving to the seat beside the one she was sitting in, her bag over the wet spot.

Quinn is still completely oblivious to her plight. And now Rachel knows she's in trouble – if she moves, she's going to pee. And then Quinn is going to know that she can't control herself.

As if on cue, another spurt struggles to get out, and Rachel jams her foot more forcefully under herself. Quinn looks over.

"Are you okay, Rach?"

_No. _"Yes, of course I am. Why do you ask?"

Quinn frowns. "You're sitting kind of funny."

"Oh. I just was getting uncomfortable lying on the grass." Rachel tries to shrug it off and relax, but when she does, a large spurt wets through her capris and now she can feel her bare foot getting damp. Shit.

Quinn shrugs. "Do you want some water?" She proffers a water bottle, and Rachel quickly shakes her head.

"No, thanks." The boys are laughing and tackling each other, the ball forgotten, and Rachel notices them careening towards the two girls sitting on the grass. Involuntarily, she moves her foot out from under her as they look like they're going to crash into Rachel and Quinn, but they veer to the side and that's when Rachel knows that the game is up.

It starts slowly, just a little trickle, as she desperately tries to hold onto whatever control she has left, but escalates into a steady warm flow. She can feel the urine coming through her pants, soaking into the grass below her, and halfway through her accident, she begins to cry.

Quinn looks shocked. "Rachel, what's wrong?"

Rachel can't tell Quinn. She can't let her know that she's sitting in wet pants like a naughty toddler. But Quinn is staring at her, and she can't just not answer, and why is this happening right now –

"Um, I – I . . ."

She's clenching her fists right above the wet spot that's visible on the front of her capris, and Quinn looks down at the sudden movement. At first, her face registers nothing, and then slowly, an understanding comes into her eyes.

"Rachel, did you just . . ." Quinn can't get the words out. She gently moves Rachel's fists from over her crotch and now she knows exactly what is wrong.

"Oh, Rachel. It's okay. I won't tell anyone."

Rachel starts to sob, hard, and wonders why in the world Quinn, of all people, has to be right here when she's just peed her pants.

Quinn's mouth twists a little and she puts her arm around Rachel's shoulders. "Shh. It's okay. Look, we can get into the school. They're having summer school today, so the door is unlocked. We'll go to the bathroom."

"But . . . the boys . . ."

Quinn looks at them, now at the far end of the field. "They're not going to see anything. Okay?"

Rachel nods, looking at Quinn out of tear-filled dark eyes. "I'm sorry, I just had to go and it came on so fast . . ."

"Shh. It's okay. It happens to everyone, okay?" Quinn sounds like she's talking to a five-year-old, and that makes Rachel cry even harder. Quinn squeezes her shoulder.

"Come on." She pulls Rachel to her feet and now it's clear that Rachel's had a big accident. The seat of her capris is sticking to her bottom wetly, and there's a wet patch on the grass where she was sitting. Quinn hurries her towards the school, thankfully nearby, and they manage to duck in without anyone seeing them.

But the girls' bathroom is so far away. Down the long corridor and to the right, and past the office. What if Ms. Pillsbury sees them? What if Principal Figgins does?

As if she's reading Rachel's thoughts, Quinn mutters, "We're going to need to take the other corridor, the one that isn't in front of the office. Come with me." She pushes Rachel in front of her. "Put your hands in front of your pants. I'll stay right behind you so no one will see the back."

As they hurry down the hallway, Rachel wonders at someone who would do this for her. She not only is wet and humiliated, she's sure she's probably starting to smell. And Quinn doesn't mind – she's guiding Rachel gently with one hand on her shoulder, and staying smoothly behind her, anticipating her every movement so that no one can see the mess on the back of her pants.

It's . . . well, it's more than Finn would probably do.

They manage to reach the bathroom without incident and once they get inside, Quinn checks under all of the stalls before smartly locking the main door.

Rachel has just caught sight of herself in the mirror, and she begins to cry again. "I'm sorry," she wails, and Quinn comes over and rubs her shoulders.

"Never mind that, Rachel. Come on, get those pants off. You're going to have to get rid of your panties when we're done, but I can at least wash these out and dry them under the hand dryer."

Rachel reluctantly starts to unbutton her pants, but then she covers her face with her hands. "Why are you doing this?" comes out, muffled-sounding, from behind her hands.

Quinn shrugs uncomfortably. "I don't know. Because it was an accident? And because you're my friend?"

She sounds unsure, and Rachel grimly assures herself that Quinn won't be her friend after they're done.

She finally strips off the wet capris, and Quinn can't keep the grimace off her face, though she tries mightily, as she carries them to the sink and begins to run the water over the wet spots on the seat and the crotch.

Standing in her wet panties, Rachel feels about four years old, and probably looks it, too. Her hair is coming loose from the two braids she put it in, and her bangs are wisping by the side of her face. She'd pinned them off her face today, due to the heat, but her hair is beginning to frizz a bit. Great.

Strangely, she feels an urge to start sucking her thumb. She stopped that when she was about 10, but sometimes, in the deepest, darkest parts of her mind, she wants to, again, and has, when no one is home and she's alone in her room.

Quinn finishes with the pants. "I think that's the best I can do. At least they don't smell anymore."

Rachel blushes, and Quinn gives her an uneasy smile. "It's okay, Rachel. I did this in fourth grade."

"In FOURTH grade! I'm eighteen!"

"So? It was an accident. Lots of people older than us have them." Quinn turns on the hand dryer and holds the pants up underneath them. "Why don't you go and clean up a bit in the bathroom?" she calls over the noise, and Rachel takes her advice and goes into one of the stalls.

But her panties are too wet, and she isn't going to stand in front of Quinn naked while the other girl dries her pants. She comes back out.

"I'll just wait until you're finished."

Quinn shrugs. "Okay. But I wouldn't want to stand around in wet panties." She repositions the pants. The thin material is drying nicely, though the pants look a little bedraggled.

"It's too bad I don't have an iron," says Rachel, a little foggily from the tears. "They're going to be a little wrinkled."

"Better than soaking wet." Quinn leans against one of the sinks. "So . . . what happened?"

Rachel blushes brightly, but, honestly, she does owe the other girl an explanation. She's drying her wet pants, after all.

"I just . . . didn't want to go, because I was really enjoying being with you," she says in an embarrassed rush, "and then I . . . I don't know, had an accident. I couldn't hold it, and I couldn't move."

Quinn doesn't look up. "Well, that's . . . flattering, I guess. I've never had someone enjoy my company so much that they didn't want to go to the bathroom because of it."

Rachel hears the slight mockery in her words, and she miserably looks at the floor. Two tears drop out of her eyes and splatter on the dingy tile, and two more follow those. It is stupid.

Quinn doesn't say anything, but she props the pants up on the garbage can and pulls it under the dryer. Washing her hands, she dries them quietly with a paper towel and then comes over to Rachel, pulling her into a hug.

"I know it's stupid," weeps Rachel against Quinn's shoulder, but Quinn just rubs Rachel's back soothingly and says nothing.

After Rachel's sobs have slowed down, Quinn gently wipes the stray tears away with her thumb and smiles. "Next time, just tell me. I promise, I'm not going to judge you for this or tell anyone. Just let me know you have to go. It's fine."

And suddenly, Rachel has a flash of understanding. Quinn . . . gets it. She understands why Rachel wouldn't tell her. She understands the embarrassment and the weird feeling of telling someone you like a lot about such a private function.

Rachel's pants are a little damp, still, but they're wearable. Quinn turns to her.

"They're good. You can go and clean up a bit, now."

Rachel nods and wets a few pieces of toilet paper in the sink, disappearing into the stall. She strips off her wet panties and wipes herself down with the paper, and feels a bit better. The pants are still warm from the dryer and she can feel a little dampness, still, but it is a lot better than the clinging wetness.

Clutching her disgusting panties, she throws them out into the garbage can quickly and then washes her hands two or three times. Quinn watches her impassively, and then when Rachel is done, Quinn pulls her back into her arms and cuddles her for a few minutes.

"Do you feel better?" she asks in a tender tone, and Rachel has to suppress a feeling that Quinn actually might be liking this.

"Yes. Thank you, Quinn . . . I'm not really sure what else to say. No one else would have done this for me."

Quinn strokes Rachel's slightly flyaway hair and smiles. "It's okay. What are friends for?"

Rachel wishes she knew, because then maybe she could tell Quinn that she's the best friend that Rachel has ever had.

She contents herself with smiling tentatively back, and on the way out, Quinn takes her hand.

Maybe it's not so bad, after all.


End file.
